Tuesday, October 1, 2013

They ask me how it is

They ask me how it is, in this country where I live and
love, and where news and politics ricochet off tree branches and crashing waves,

They ask me if I’m safe in the land that cradles me at the
end of a long line of ancestors, each of whom come to me with the smell of the
earth at every first rain, and the sun kissing my cheeks at any time of the
year.

I reply with idle words to comfort them, the banality
soothes their concern – they need not worry, this is how it has always
been. They worry because the news tells
them to worry, because we never appear for our win in an Olympic bid, or for
hosting a world invention summit. We do not appear because we have explorers
who have unearthed keys to the history of civilization (at least not recently),
or because we nurture scientists who have found the cure for anything. If there was a yearbook of nations, we’d be
the country that was voted “Has most potential, but too volatile to succeed”,
or “Intuitively gifted, but has self-destructive tendencies”.

So I reply with idle words, though there are times when I’d
like to say much more.

I’d like to say that I get up every morning not knowing if
my plans will be instantly derailed by security events, but I get up anyway.

That I start planning trips for upcoming holidays not
knowing if the airport will remain open, but I plan anyway.

That I browse through new houses, and make plans for
rebuilding projects at home, not knowing if something will prompt us to leave
suddenly, but I browse anyway.

It is indeed how we are, so we have been going on with our
lives for many years, with the threat of something drastic happening looming overhead,
and we go on anyway.

You are right to be concerned for us, for there is clearly
cause for concern.

And I reciprocate my concern for you: our threats present themselves
clear as day (sadly), and remain sternly present at the corner of our eyes. Whereas yours fall upon you without heed or
warning.